


Letters to My Mother

by choirgang



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Letters, Sad, i dunno how to tag fight me, if i keep writing this lol WHO KNOWS, like the story is literally a bunch of letters, lots of, tags will be added as I go, there's gonna be sad tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirgang/pseuds/choirgang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of letters from you, the reader, to your mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Been a Long Time.

**Author's Note:**

> hey what's good
> 
> this is the first serious story i've written in a long time, so be gentle. also i'm pretty sure this is the only time i've posted anything i've ever written online? oh well. here we go.

02/27/15

Dear mother,

It's been a long time. I don't care to count the years. I know you were never one for numbers anyway, were you? You talked about numbers as if they had no place in our lives. They were an abstract concept, something disposable.

Did I ever tell you how much I loved numbers? I'm majoring in mathematics now.

It's been a long time.

Remember when you and I discussed the importance of letters? Funny, how you hated numbers and loved letters. Not the physical letter, but letters in the alphabetical sense. You loved to learn new languages, you even encouraged my friends and I to make up our own when we were young. We still do, sometimes. I think of you, always.

I haven't written a letter in years. Well, technically I still have not written a letter, but typing is just the same. You may not agree, but I believe heart can still be in something without handwriting. Remember my awful handwriting? It's still terrible. Unreadable. Maybe that's why I like numbers better than letters.

Everyone misses you. Remember those times in the park in the town where I grew up? You called it your hometown too. You weren't very fond of your own. Anyway, a lot of us went to the park again. Last time I went with you I scraped my knee. You kissed it and said it'd be alright. We got out of the park unscathed this time around, but my kneecap itched when I passed where we would play hopscotch.

My therapist said to write this and not fix a thing. “Don't use the backspace key,” she said, “and don't edit it. Just write and keep everything as it is. Leave it be.” I'm still fixing the typos. I've always been a perfectionist. I think I got that from dad.

There were so many flowers at the park. All blues and reds and pinks and purples, sprouting up out of the ground and the pavement, reclaiming what is truly their stomping ground. A few kids were at the park when we went there. The didn't step on a single flower. The children picked some, the ones closest to the swings. They made flower crowns and decorated each other with them. It made me think of you. Really, everything does.

I've never been good at writing personal things. You know that, right? I would get perfect scores on my essays, but I always needed help writing thank you notes.

I miss you more than anyone else does. I know that's selfish. You always told me to be selfish. If I wanted something, I should get it. If I felt something, I should accept it. If I knew something, I should flaunt it. I don't particularly feel like flaunting this fact, though. I'm sure you wouldn't mind.

I need to go now. I have work in an hour. I have an internship at an accounting firm. I work with numbers all day long. You would hate it.

Sincerely,

Your only child


	2. Did You Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it wrong to be wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY look at me two chapters on the first day (i had like half of this written before i posted it lol)
> 
> anyway here's some more stuff that happened. enjoy!

03/01/15

Dear mother,

I went to church today, for the first time in a long time. Remember when grandma would take me and my best friend to church? We would always giggle in the pew, and even when grandma would shush us I think she was holding back a giggle herself. She loved to see us happy.

You always called my best friend your second child. You were their second mom. We're still just like siblings. We see each other on a weekly basis. You were so close with their mom. And dad is still close to their dad. We tell everyone we were destined to be best friends since before we were born, that we are both an only child so we have more time to spend with each other. Sometimes we tell people we're related, and they always believe us. They miss you, too.

I've made new friends since I've seen you. It was hard, at first, talking to people. Talking to anyone. Really, the only reason I made new friends is because I was tired of telling my old ones the same old stories. When I would feel nostalgic, I would go to the school and find someone to talk to. Sometimes it was in a lobby, sometimes in the cafe, sometimes out by the picnic tables. I met so many new people with so many new stories in only a few weeks. It was nice to hear them talk, but only a few heard my story. I didn't want to say it out loud. If you say it out loud, it becomes too real. I've even started talking to people in my classes. I've found that when the conversation gets dull, if I tell them something interesting then they'll usually have something to say.

Did you know that sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift away from each other?

Did you know that a “jiffy” is 1/100th of a second?

Did you know that every time someone dies two people are born?

…

I think you would have liked that fact the most.

Anyway.

I have two classes tomorrow. Poetry and calculus. Isn't that strange? Sometimes I get the two mixed up in my head, I scribble integrals in the margins of Robert Browning's “My Last Duchess,” I contemplate themes in early lyric poetry while learning about constant coefficients. Two classes, two polar opposite classes, found their way into my schedule, on the same day, no less. Dad's glad I'm pursuing math. Would you be glad to hear I'm pursuing literature, too?

I study more for poetry than I do for calculus. Isn't that strange? Math always came naturally to me. You always said you envied that about me. That I had such a handle on it. That I got higher scores in harder classes than even dad, the engineer, got. Sometimes I envy you. The fact that you didn't understand when I would show you my homework, that you never felt the need to get the right answer the first time. It's hard being right all the time when I really need to be wrong.

Does that make any sense? I feel like half the stuff I write to you doesn't make sense. Do my feelings even make sense? I think I really do need to be wrong, sometimes.

Is it wrong to want to be wrong? To not understand? To wish to be in the dark about everything? Sometimes I think life would be so much easier if I didn't analyze every little thing. Am I wrong to understand and wish I did not?

Sorry. Sometimes I ramble.

I should go. I need some time. I'll do some homework. Maybe I'll be wrong for once.

Sincerely,

Your only child


	3. Kittens and Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes birthdays aren't happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I know I said I'd tried to update twice a week and it's been less than 24 hours and I've put up three chapters, but.....i can't stop myself. also i'm on break this week and have no plans SO nothing better to do than write! this chapter has a lot of blocks of text, but it's only like 500-something words, so. we're all good. enjoy!

03/05/15

Dear mother,

I'm sorry. I freaked myself out a little bit in the last letter. But, I've since calmed down. And I got a perfect score on my homework. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Perfectionism is a drug.

I started reading again. Remember how I would always be reading when I was younger? You helped me learn how to read when I was very young, much younger than most other kids were when they learned. I used to pick up a book and always have it by my side until I finished it. I stopped reading so much around the time I started high school. You noticed, of course you did. I remember you asked me, “what happened? Where's my little book worm?” I didn't have an answer for you. I thought you were upset at the time, but looking back I know you were just concerned. “Lack of interest in things you once enjoyed is a sign of depression,” I can almost hear you say those words you never dared speak aloud. It runs in the family, doesn't it?

Anyway.

The book's called Middlesex. It's really good. I've had it sitting on my shelf for a long time, something I picked up at a thrift store that sounded interesting. You were always indifferent to thrift stores, I don't recall you ever taking me, but when I came home with my arms full of new things you always had a smile on your face and a helping hand to carry everything in. You did have a fondness for donating to one store in particular, the one that gave all the profit to animals in need. Remember that one? It's still open, I went in the other day to find a new CD player (the one you got me as a kid finally gave up the ghost) and they had kittens up for adoption. I considered adopting one. But, I can hardly take care of myself right now, how could I take care of a small animal?

Our birthdays are coming up soon. What did you always call me? “The best birthday gift I could ask for,” something along those lines. You always told people our birthdays were only minutes apart, that you were born 11:59 pm and I was born 12:01 pm. It was fun to think about. Maybe that's why we were so close? And why we were so alike? The only thing we couldn't agree on was what kind of cake to have for our joined birthday parties, which, granted, were more for me than you. You wanted chocolate, I wanted vanilla. We would always get marble. Neither of us liked it. But it became a tradition. I still get marble on my birthday.

I saw my therapist yesterday. I told her I wrote two letters, “but what do I do now? Who do I post them to?” I think she wanted to laugh. “No one,” she explained, “they're for you. Seal them. Put them away. Read them when you need to.” When will I need to? “I think you'll know when you need to. Don't rush yourself.” She's so cryptic sometimes. Maybe that's why I take her advice so seriously. I've always been a fan of being vague and confusing.

I thought about posting the letters anyway. Putting on a random address, stamping it, and sending it away. Maybe putting them in bottles and sending them out to sea. Just letting them go. I think you'd like that.

…

Well, I should go. That book isn't gonna read itself. I'd like to finish that one and start the next. It's called Body & Soul. It looks very good.

Sincerely,

Your only child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also special s/o to Laura, Zack, and Kayla y'all are gr8 luv ya


	4. But Nobody Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What am I even doing anymore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kids quick warning: there's some harsh language at the end of this one. also reader kinda has a breakdown? like a mini panic attack? just watch out if you're sensitive to that kinda stuff.
> 
> anyway sorry it took me a few days to get this chapter out, but here it is! enjoy!

03/07/15

Dear mother,

I adopted one of the kittens.

She's grey and white and the sweetest, cuddliest little kitty I've ever seen. I got her everything she could want, toys, fancy food, a scratching post, one of those cat jungle gyms, even a self-cleaning litter box. Really, though, that was more for me than her. I named her after you.

Remember my first dog? We adopted her too. Her name was Savannah, she was a border collie. She was always so timid, but once she got comfortable around someone she was such an angel. I still have pictures of me and her that you took when I was little in some photo books I put together. Sometimes my childhood friends and I get together and look through them. We've made some scrapbooks, but those are mostly from vacations we've taken together, or nights out we've had.

I feel like I'm running out of things to talk about. Letters are hard to write when there's nothing to respond to.

Do you know I'm writing these? Do you wish you could respond?

Sometimes when I go out I see you everywhere. In every passing face, if just for a moment. But sometimes I don't see you anywhere. It seems like I see you more in the places you never took me. Isn't that strange? I don't tell anyone about that. It feels too personal. Like a secret we have. Do you see me, too? Do you see anyone?

The kitten's sitting in my lap as a write this. I scratch her head between sentences, she keeps purring like crazy. Sometimes she paws at my fingers when I start to type too quickly. She's so cute. I forget if you ever told me if you liked cats or not. My friends all thought it was strange that I adopted a cat, “you're such a dog person? Why didn't you get a puppy?” Honestly, I don't know. The appeal of having a kitten was just too great, I guess. Puppies are great too, but cats are easier to take care of. More suited for my lifestyle right now.

I think I'm gonna take a day trip this weekend, maybe head into the city. It'd be nice to get out and explore. Walk around, breathe in the fresh air. The weather's supposed to be nice, I saw on the news the oth

Wait, am I seriously making small talk right now? In a letter? To my mother? To which I'll get no response?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I need to go. Should I go? Who fucking cares? Is this even a letter if I'm not sending it, not getting a response? Why the hell am I still writing? I feel like writing these fucking letters has made me crazier than I was before I started. What the hell is this supposed to accomplish? Who the fuck thought this was a good idea? I can't breathe I need to sit down I am sitting? WHAT DO I DO what the hell comes next???

I need a fucking break.

What do I even need a break from?

…

I need a response.

…

Please, mom. Please. If you're reading this, please respond. I need to hear from you. Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also yes that is an Undertale reference


	5. It's Been a Long Time...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you help me find my way home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey what's good! reader is BACK and man. did things happen.
> 
> anyway, this is probably the end of quick updates, as school starts again tomorrow! yay death. anyway, i'll update as often as possible, but no promises. enjoy!

03/16/15

Dear mother,

Um. Hi.

It's been a long time.

…

Again.

I guess I owe you an explanation.

After I finished my last letter, I packed my things and left. I took my kitten, my biggest bag of essentials, and a list of pet friendly hotels and left. I just started driving. I couldn't handle it anymore. It took people a while to notice I was gone, I live on my own and my closest friends were out of town for the weekend, and by the time they knew I wasn't home they had no idea where I went. School was off for the next week, so no official alarms were raised until my friends filed a missing persons report after they didn't hear from me for a few days.

I met a lot of new people when I was away. Locals, tourists, and everyone in between. They all had a story. I never told them mine. I made up stories, about how I'm just visiting for the day, or how my friends moved out here for work, or how I'm lost and trying to find my way home. I used that last story a lot. The responses I got were amazing. Most people, the tourists, pointed me in the direction of a map or welcome center. Others, the locals, pointed me in the general direction of wherever I said I was from. Those weren't the responses I was talking about though. It was the responses from the dreamers, the children, the elderly, the people who really knew what I was asking. They heard it in my voice, or saw it in my eyes. I wasn't asking how to get to my hometown. I was asking how to get home. “Haven't we all had to ask that? How do I get home?” “Isn't this your home? You look happy. I'm happy at home.” “Just keep walking. Keep smiling. You'll find it eventually.”

The best, was this: “Do you even want to go home?”

…

Do I?

I had the time of my life. I wish I could keep traveling forever. Just meeting new people, asking where home is, forever and ever. But it would lose the magic then, wouldn't it? I would become dull, and I'd want to escape that, too. So I came back. I called my friends, who called the police, who called my dad, who called me, who cried. I felt bad for leaving them to worry.

I told them about the letters. How I'm talking to you. They all gave me sad kind of smiles. I felt sick. I wanted to run away again.

Is it too much to ask to want to go home?

My friends have been keeping an eye on me, “for moral support. We're sorry we haven't noticed you've been hurting so much recently, but we're here for you.” I know they just don't want me to run away again. Today's the first day I've been alone since I came home, and it was only on the condition that I see my therapist tonight and tell her what's happened. I don't mind. I think she'll agree with me, that I just wanted to go home.

Are you home?

I'm leaving for class in a few minutes. I really hope my friends didn't call the school. I don't want to have to keep explaining myself.

Love,

Your only child


	6. Happy Is As Happy Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a fake smile can turn into a real one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is short(er than the rest) and late. school and all that jazz. hopefully this dose of happy will make up for it!
> 
> i can kind of feel this story losing momentum, so i have a feeling there's not gonna be much more left. i'm certainly gonna try to write more in the future, though!
> 
> NOTE: minor alcohol mention in this chapter. like, the words "alcohol" and "hungover" are used once each. just fyi!

03/21/15

Dear mom,

I showed my therapist these letters the other night. She was happy, but a little surprised. “These are so somber and formal,” she half-laughed, “you're writing these to cheer yourself up. Why do you feel like you need to be so sad?” I thought she was crazy. I told her so. She laughed at me. “Listen. You know that phrase, 'fake it till you make it'? I want you to do that with these letters. Act happy. Put a smile on your face. You'll feel better.” She might be right, but acting happy when I'm writing these letters feels so insincere.

But then again, it's not exactly fair to you if you only hear from me when I'm sad, is it?

Maybe I'll take her advice. Maybe if I write about happy things, I'll feel better.

A few friends took me out for a night out yesterday. I had a great time. We went to a club a few blocks down the street and danced for a while. I'm not a huge fan of the club scene, but it's a lot of fun every once in a while, especially with the friends that I have. And I even met someone there who I really hit it off with. We exchanged numbers and have been talking a little bit over text message, but so far so good. After that we went to a diner for 1 AM pancakes and back to my house for a sleepover. We stayed up watching movies and talking about everything under the sun. It reminded me so much of sleepovers I would have as a kid, except with alcohol. It was great.

The kitten's really settling in well here. She loves to play on the jungle gym, and I always find her napping in the very top cubby hole when I get home. I think it gets the most sun on it. Her favorite place to sleep at night, though, is right next to me in my bed. I've woken up to her climbing over my face a few times, but she'll make herself comfortable and fall back asleep after a few minutes. All my friends loved her last night, they all wanted their turn to cuddle with her when she got sleepy.

You know, this is making me feel a little better. I like telling you about the good times. I'm gonna try to have a happier outlook from now on, especially in these letters.

Anyway. I should get going. The kitten is getting a little antsy, and I'm still a bit hungover. I think I'm gonna make a big lunch and eat out on the balcony. The weather is really good today.

See? I can even make small talk now. It still feels strange, but I'll get used to it.

Love,

Your only child


	7. An Ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, agreeing is the best response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry this took literally so long.
> 
> i've been wanting to end this for a while, and i'm pretty happy with how this turned out.

05/09/15

 

Dear mom,

A lot has happened in the past month and a half.

I've been going out more, making new friends. I tell every one of them my story. They all respond about the same, pat my back, tell me it'll be alright. When I tell them that it won't, it'll never be alright, they all agree with me. It's not a bad thing, sometimes it's okay to not be alright.

I've been...really happy.

The kitten is getting bigger everyday. She loves exploring more than ever. I'm thinking about getting a leash and taking her on walks, like a dog. I think she'd like that.

The person that I've been texting and I are officially dating. It's going well. I told them about you and they hugged me for a long time. They told me that, even though I hurt, I'm stronger because of it.

I agreed with them.

I've been doing that a lot, agreeing. It makes life easier, but also happier. I stand up for myself when I feel the need to, but for the little things, I agree. “Weather sure is nice today,” “that test was so hard,” “that was the best party ever!” I smile and say “yes.” They smile. It's nice.

I saw my therapist last night, for hopefully the last time about this. She told me I seem much happier. She also told me seeing a therapist regularly is a good thing to do. “We all have problems. Sometimes it's nice to have other people find solutions.”

I agreed.

I think I am going to post these letters. Well, post them in a way. I'm going to bundle them up, tie them to a balloon, and let them go. I'll put my PO box as the return address and whatever happens, happens. I'm content with how my life is. I feel like I can let go of the past and embrace the future.

And, on that note...

I love you.

I miss you.

I visited your grave today, to say my final goodbye.

More love than I could ever express,

Your only child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the sad. also, if you guessed the ending sooner, congrats!
> 
> if you like how i write and want to read more and also like undertale, check out my other fic Burning Down The House! i'm grillby garbage.
> 
> thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> hey so that's a thing that happened! leave any feedback you'd like, i have no idea where i'm going with this. i'll try to update soon (maybe twice a week since, ya know, short) but who knows!


End file.
